


A Keener Eye

by Deastar



Series: To Be Seen Aright [6]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU of an AU, Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cock Worship, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Obedience, Praise Kink, Sadism, crawling, one-night stand, so so much kink negotiation, sub/dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16536158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: Dumbshit-early-twenties-Sasha would never have gone home with Sidney Crosby, no matter how gorgeous and talented he might be—not after realizing that some previous dom had taught Sidney that communication is “complaining” and asking for help is “bothering” someone. But Sasha is more confident in his dominance now, and he knows that subs like the man standing behind him have value that makes them worth the extra time and care.





	A Keener Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Please see the tags! In addition, warning for use of slurs and discussion thereof and a submissive not being honest about his limits and preferences (although he mostly gets caught and corrected). Also, Ovi comes to the conclusion that Sid is a survivor of abusive partnerships. He’s wrong—Sid is the survivor of an abusive and oppressive culture but not abusive intimate relationships—but he views his interactions with Sid through that lens, so if DV is triggering for you, please read with caution or skip this one.
> 
> Notes: People kept saying they’d love to see an AU of To Be Seen Aright where Sid went home with Ovechkin the night of their conversation instead of going out and having that terrible hookup, and I kept saying it couldn’t be done because Sid was not in a place at that point in the story to have a good scene with someone of Ovechkin’s tastes, and now you all know that the best way to make me start writing something is to get me to say it can’t be done. This is a best case scenario – I still think that in 90% of universes, it would all go horribly wrong, but this is more fun to write. Note that this is still endgame Sid/Geno.
> 
> ALSO, your understanding of this fic will be greatly enriched by reading [To Be Seen Aright](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907123/chapters/26902770) first, but this should stand alone if you just want some Sid/Ovi kinky porn (and negotiation and aftercare… the actual porn is maybe ¼ of this story). Thank you to [laulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laulan/pseuds/laulan) and [werebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhien/pseuds/werebear) for looking this over for me!

_This is all Backy’s fault_ , Sasha thinks ruefully as he pokes his head through the door to the parking garage, checking to see if the coast is clear.

It was Backy who had challenged Sasha all those years ago, when Sasha had scoffed at the idea of taking home a sub who’d been fucked up by a bad dom. It was Backy who’d asked—mildly but bluntly, as always—why a sub who’d had a bad dom should be sentenced to only ever scene with other bad doms again. And it was Backy who’d replied to Sasha’s protestations: “You don’t think you say this, but you say. Because if all good doms say these subs is ‘too much work’ because bad dom teach them wrong, teach them expect bad things, then these subs only ever get more bad doms. Bad doms don’t care if sub scared of them, can’t ask for thing. Bad doms maybe _like_ that.”

It’s because of that conversation that Sasha is standing here scoping out his own parking garage like he’s in the KGB, with Sidney fucking Crosby hovering behind him, about to let Sasha take him home and do sexy things with him. Because dumbshit-early-twenties-Sasha would never have gone home with Sidney Crosby, no matter how gorgeous and talented he might be—not after realizing that some previous dom had taught Sidney that communication is “complaining” and asking for help is “bothering” someone. But Sasha is more confident in his dominance now, and he knows that Backy was right – that subs like the man standing behind him have value that makes them worth the extra time and care.

Also, Sidney Crosby is fucking beautiful and adorably shy and Sasha wants to mark him up _all fucking over_ , but that part he can’t blame on Backy.

“Is nobody here,” Sasha tells Sidney, over his shoulder. “Come on, I park next door – is good to be big star, yes?” he jokes.

Sidney just nods tensely and follows Sasha out to the car, moving as quickly as he can without flat-out running. Once the car door is closed, he relaxes a fraction.

He tenses up again when Sasha pulls out his phone, and Sasha wonders why.

Keeping his voice low and calm, Sasha explains, “I make plans with friend, have to text him for cancel – just is two seconds, then we go.”

Sidney goes from suspicious to apologetic in the blink of an eye. He stammers, “I-I can go, you didn’t have to cancel your plans,” and actually reaches for the door handle as if he thinks he’s somehow _imposing_ on Sasha.

“Is no big deal,” Sasha assures him firmly, texting Zhenya, _Last-minute hot date, sorry, make it up to you!!_ “I’m see this friend lots, have lots of chances for see again.”

Quietly, Sidney says, “Okay,” and pulls his hands into his lap.

As Sasha starts the car and pulls out of his space, he tries to figure out what that was all about. Is Sidney really that scrupulously considerate, that he would think about leaving rather than inconveniencing Sasha’s nameless friend? Or is he that unsure of his welcome – unsure that Sasha actually wants him?

 _Or was he looking for an excuse to back out?_ Sasha thinks, grimacing. He’ll have to keep an eye out for that. He’s not worried that he pressured Sidney into saying yes – they’d been several feet apart when on impulse Sasha had said, simply, “You want to come home with me, Sidney?” It had been obvious to Sasha from the look in Sidney’s eyes and flush on Sidney’s cheeks that Sidney wanted him… but it was also obvious that Sidney was shy, and maybe not even aware of his own desire. So he hadn’t necessarily expected to get a “yes.”

But after a minute where some sort of internal battle was fought in Sidney’s posture and on his face, Sidney had surprised him with a quiet but impassioned, “Yes.” And _he’d_ been the one, not Sasha, to close the distance between them.

For clarity, Sasha had asked, “You want to scene with me?”

And again, pink-cheeked but clear-eyed, Sidney had said, “Yes.”

So Sasha’s not concerned that he coerced Sidney into coming along – but he will keep an eye out for signs that Sidney has changed his mind. Since those two “yeses,” Sidney’s been very quiet: nothing more to say than a quick “People can’t see—” as they were heading to Sasha’s car, and then that odd apology for Sasha cancelling his plans.

The silence continues as Sasha wends his way out of the parking garage and then out onto the streets, heading for Virginia. As Sasha crawls along surface roads to get to the highway, that silence starts to feel a little oppressive—charged, maybe, with a rising tension that Sasha doesn’t understand but finds himself strangely unable to break.

This isn’t exactly what he’d pictured when he imagined taking Sidney Crosby home. Sasha has always liked Sidney – partly to spite the people in the press who wanted them to hate each other, partly because Zhenya sings his praises and Sasha trusts Zhenya’s judgment, but mostly because he admires how confidently and gracefully Sidney carries himself under the weight of all the unfair dynamic shit that gets left on his doorstep. And Sasha has been attracted to Sidney for almost as long – he’s always been hot for Sidney’s hockey, but also for his red lips and strong body and most of all, for the fire in his eyes. That, above all, is what gets Sasha going. But he isn’t seeing much of that fire, now. He wonders what that means.

Abruptly, not looking at Sasha, Sidney says, “This is stupid, I should never have—I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Hey, hey.” Sasha makes his tone soothing, the way he talks to one of his dogs when they’re scared of a storm. “What’s wrong?”

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, going home with an opponent—a _rival_.” Sidney sounds like he’s trying to persuade _himself_ of something, working himself up, but the fact that he’s saying this stuff out loud makes it Sasha’s business to respond.

“Why?” Sasha asks, frowning at Sidney as he takes a left turn. “You think I’m treat you bad? Because hockey?”

There’s a pause while Sidney considers that – a pause that, thankfully, saps some of the tension from Sidney’s body, and from the air between the two of them. Warm air floods the car as the engine heats up, and Sasha loosens his tie with one hand.

“No,” Sidney says eventually, quiet but decisive. “No. You have every reason to, but… no. I don’t think you would.”

“Good,” Sasha says, relieved. He would have turned the car right around otherwise. And been kind of hurt, frankly. He asks, “Then what’s problem?”

There’s another, shorter pause, and then Sidney says, low, “You’ll tell everyone,” the words spilling out fast, working himself up again – it’s clear to Sasha that he’s not leveling an accusation; he’s giving voice to a fear. “That I went home with you, the—the stuff you did to me—”

“No,” Sasha replies firmly, and Sidney falls silent. “I’m not tell anyone, okay? I promise. I know how to keep secret.” People who don’t know Sasha well tend to think that his big, loud, obvious persona is all there is to him… but nobody is just the role they play for the cameras. He suspects Sidney understands that better than most.

For a minute, Sasha’s attention is taken up with the tricky business of merging onto the expressway. He respects D.C. drivers—they’re almost as cutthroat as drivers in Moscow—and that means giving them and their two-ton death machines his complete focus when he’s trying to ooze between them. Once the difficult driving is over, he shoots a sideways look at Sidney and asks, “You believe me? Believe I’m not tell?”

Sidney doesn’t reply right away. Sasha keeps his eyes on the road, but he has the feeling he’s being studied. He lets his passenger look, and think, uninterrupted. Eventually, he hears Sidney draw in a breath. Then, softly, Sidney replies, “I do. I don’t know why, but… I do. I trust you.”

Sasha smiles – he never takes those words for granted. “Good,” he says. “Can’t do this if you don’t.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. It would have gone against all his instincts to let Sidney’s fears go unsoothed, or to let Sidney think that he was the kind of asshole dom who talks about subs behind their backs. But he also doesn’t want to be the kind of asshole dom who talks subs into things that they’re not comfortable with.

Keeping his voice low and neutral, he offers, “If you change mind, it’s okay. Okay? I can take you to Penguins hotel if you want. Or if you want to see my awesome house, we can just drink vodka, watch West Coast games… Ovi is okay with anything, okay? Ovi is easy-going guy.”

At that, Sidney cracks a smile – for the first time since they left the arena, he looks secure in himself. When he asks, “You call yourself Ovi?” there’s a hint of teasing in his voice.

Sasha shrugs, happy to take some chirping if it makes Sidney feel at ease. “Sometimes! Is good nickname, yes?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“It’s pretty good,” Sidney allows, the smile still hovering at the corners of his mouth. It’s cute. Then the smile melts off his face and he looks uncertain again. “Is that, um. Is that what you want me to call you?”

“In scene? Is good question.” It’s as good a place to start negotiating the scene as any. Sasha tilts his head to the side, pondering. “Hmm. What you think: you call me Sir?” he suggests.

Sasha’s not sure what, specifically, Sidney’s reaction to that is, but it’s negative: he just… shuts down, right in front of Sasha’s eyes, hunching in on himself and stiffening up at the same time. Operating on instinct again, Sasha swiftly says, “Just joke! You call me Alex, okay?”

And even though it wasn’t actually a joke—Sasha does get a kick out of being called “Sir,” although he’s also perfectly happy to do without it—the white lie is worth it when Sidney turns to him, tentatively unfurling again, and says shyly, “Hi, Alex.”

 _I’m in the car with a very dangerous man_ , Sasha thinks, somewhere between stunned and amused at the effect that sweet, unguarded smile is having on him. He turns down the car’s heat – he’s plenty warm enough now.

“Hi, Sidney,” he replies, trying to put some of that feeling into his voice. “Or… you want I call you Sid? Or…” Sasha decides to float another trial balloon, since he knows he can write it off as a joke again if it falls flat. Keeping his voice soft and affectionate, he continues, “…Maybe I call you my pretty slut, hmm? Is good?”

 _That_ gets an even stronger reaction from Sidney, and a complicated one, too – it starts with embarrassment, then a quick flash of something that’s either arousal or disgust, followed by something that’s _definitely_ disgust, with a hint of anger as a chaser.

“Sorry, fuck,” Sasha says immediately, wincing, “just joke again. Look like it’s not good joke.” He was trying to get a sense of Sidney’s interest in humiliation—one of Sasha’s favorite techniques—but whatever he just saw on Sidney’s face is too raw and painful to be used in a scene, especially with a partner he doesn’t know well.

Sidney makes a non-word sound, low and mild, that seems to indicate forgiveness. After a moment of silence, he says to the windshield, “People call me that a lot. Not the pretty part. I guess it’s because I’m in the locker room with a bunch of naked doms.” He looks down at his lap. “Or for no reason, probably. They don’t need a reason,” he finishes bitterly, and Sasha’s heart twinges.

 _Stupid, Sasha_ , he berates himself, _stupid and careless. You know what doms say to him on the ice – you’ve heard it firsthand. A half-assed joke was not the way to bring that up._

“Sorry, Sidney,” Sasha says sincerely as he takes the exit for his neighborhood. “I don’t mean to make you think of bad things. I should be more careful.”

“It’s okay.” Sidney pulls in a quick breath. Almost inaudibly, he says, “When you said it, it sounded. Different.”

 _Different_ , Sasha thinks. _What does that mean?_

He takes the opportunity of a stoplight to watch Sidney’s face closely. “Good different?” He’s not angling for anything – just trying to understand.

Sid hesitates. Quietly, he says, “It’s hard to think of that word being good.”

Which is not a _no_ , Sasha notes. He still wouldn’t dream of playing with it, but it adds a fascinating wrinkle to his understanding of Sidney’s submission.

Sidney turns to him and says directly, “It wasn’t really a joke, was it? That’s a—you thought I might like it. There are people who—who do like it.” More quietly, he adds, “That’s. Like I said. That’s hard to understand.”

Sasha shrugs. “Is lots of things good in scene that’s not good in normal life, out of scene,” he says. This is basic stuff, but he’s getting the impression that Sidney’s past doms hadn’t bothered explaining lots of things that Sasha considers basic. He continues, “Like punch: if I’m walk around, you know, just normal, and I punch somebody, it’s bad. Bad for me, bad for person I punch. But in scene, if I punch sub who _want_ punch, _ask for_ punch, then it’s good for both – feel good for me, is good for sub, too.”

“That’s… yeah, that’s true,” Sidney says, sounding thoughtful. “We learned that in dynamic ed when I was in school.” After a long moment of similarly thoughtful silence, he asks, “Is that something you want? To—to punch me?”

“Yes,” Sasha says frankly. He waits for Sidney to offer his opinion on the subject, but when he gets more silence, he prompts, “You want I punch you?”

“I… yeah.” Sidney nods, jerky. “Yes. Of course I do. I want you to.”

He sounds nervous—well, he _is_ nervous. But the tremor in his voice—and the hints Sasha’s been getting of Sidney’s history—make Sasha prod a little deeper.

“Where you want I punch you?” he asks.

There’s a second of apparent confusion, and then Sidney says, uncertain, “Your bedroom?”

Sasha blinks and then laughs. “My fault, sorry, I don’t ask question good. Where in your body you want I punch you? Face, ass…”

“Oh.” The silence stretches on until Sidney finally says, “Um, on my—my upper back?” It comes out as a question, and not an _I’m-just-shy_ question, but a _teacher-did-I-get-the-right-answer_ question.

Sasha sighs. He’s going to have to give a speech. He _hates_ giving speeches to people he wants to fuck – it’s so awkward. But there’s no getting around it this time.

Trying to keep his frustration out of his voice, he says, “Sidney, you can’t lie to me, okay? If you gonna lie to me about what you want, we can’t do this. You say you trust me, is good, but trust you need for both, you know? _I_ need trust _you_ , too: trust you gonna tell me what is good for you, not good for you.” If Sasha didn’t know that this was the product of a shitty past relationship, he’d be turning the car around right now, even though they’re almost at his house. Maybe he should anyway. But Sasha thinks he knows how to work with it, as long as Sidney can meet him halfway.

Sidney draws in a quick breath, then holds it for a second. In a small voice, he says, “I’m just trying to give you what you want.”

“I understand,” Sasha says, more gently, and he does. Fuck knows Sidney is far from the first sub Sasha’s met who’s been scarred by a shitty, selfish dominant. “But remember how I say, before, communicate is help me be better dom, and I want?”

“Yeah…”

“So you tell me what you want _is_ give me what I want,” Sasha explains. “Because I want you have good time. And also because I want to be best dom. You get that, I think.”

“I… you said that,” Sidney agrees. He chews on his bottom lip a little, then says, “But doms say lots of things.”

“What you mean?”

Sidney shrugs, clearly trying to seem casual – it doesn’t work. This is hard for him to talk about, Sasha can tell. “Sometimes doms say they want you to be one way,” he explains, quiet, “so you try and be that, but then they turn around and say another thing, and so you try to be _that_ , but you can’t be both things, so you try and pick the one you think they _really_ meant, and—and whichever you pick, it’s always wrong.” His tone is desperately trying to be matter-of-fact, but Sasha can hear the bewilderment and anger underneath. “Because all they really wanted was to get you to mess up, so they could… so they could come after you. And they do,” he finishes, almost a whisper.

Thank fuck they got to Sasha’s driveway, because there’s no way Sasha can hear a speech like that and not reach out to touch Sidney. He grabs Sidney’s hand, looks him in the eye, and says, low but sharp, “Not me, Sidney. I promise. Not _any_ good dom. Only shit dom do that.” And all the while, Sasha is thinking, _How could they? How could anybody jerk a sub around like that – take his natural instinct to please and use it to fuck with his head that way?_ Sasha knows it happens, of course he does, but… the thought of treating a sub like that is so foreign to him, so distorted – a sick inversion of what dominance is supposed to be. He can’t fathom it.

Sidney nods slowly at Sasha’s words, but he doesn’t look totally convinced.

 _Doesn’t he know any not-awful doms?_ Sasha thinks.

Sidney knows Zhenya, of course – one of the few doms whose quality Sasha can personally vouch for.

“You know Zhenya, yes?” Sidney looks confused for a second, and Sasha clarifies, “You say ‘Geno.’ Malkin, you know?”

“Oh. Yeah, of course I know Geno,” Sidney says, looking a little confused.

“He ever do this thing?” asks Sasha. “Say one thing, say other thing, make you pick, then get mad?”

Sidney’s brow furrows, like he’s searching his memory, but it doesn’t take him long. “No,” he says, his eyes widening slightly, “Geno’s never done that.”

When Sasha nods, Sidney adds, almost shyly, “Geno’s the best.”

Sasha wholly agrees, but he’s constitutionally incapable of not chirping Zhenya, even when Zhenya’s not here to hear it.

“Best, I don’t know,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

At Sidney’s surprisingly fierce glare— _there’s_ that fire Sasha likes so much—Sasha laughs and holds up his hands, backing down. “Okay, okay, you say Zhenya’s best, I’m not argue. But all I want to say is, Zhenya’s good dom, and he don’t do this… so maybe you believe me that good doms not fuck around this way. Good doms be clear, be communicate, be learn and help. Okay?”

Sidney ponders that for a minute, then says, “Yeah. I… okay.”

It’s not quite the rousing agreement that Sasha was hoping for, but Sidney does look like he’s thinking about what Sasha said, and that’s the most important thing.

He doesn’t see any reason to sit around in the car now that they’re here, so he ushers Sidney inside and up to the kitchen, pausing to say hello to his canine children and apologize to them in Russian for sexiling them to the downstairs tonight.

In the kitchen, Sasha asks, “You want drink? I have Gatorade, water, more Gatorade, tea…”

“Um… vodka?” Sidney asks, in a small voice.

“I have vodka, _of course_ ,” Sasha responds, raising an eyebrow, “but I’m not give you before scene. Need head clear, smart, for scene.”

Even in shitty North American schools, they have to teach _that_.

The shamefaced way Sidney nods confirms it, which leaves Sasha wondering why he even asked. He studies Sidney, noticing anew the slight hunch of his shoulders, and his reluctance to meet Sasha’s gaze. _Ah. Right_ , Sasha thinks.

“Still nervous, hmm?” he asks, as gently as he can.

Sidney blushes—it’s very fetching—and nods. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Is not for sorry.” This is such a delicate dance – nervous doesn’t necessarily mean unwilling… but it _can_ mean that. Sasha decides to err on the side of caution. He asks, “You still want? Can just watch Ducks game, like I say…”

“I do. Still want. Um, to scene.” Despite the hesitation between words, there’s no wavering in Sidney’s tone.

 _So, good_ , Sasha thinks. _Just nerves._ He can handle nerves.

“You know what is good for nervous?” he asks. “Better than vodka.”

Sidney shakes his head.

Sasha holds out his right arm, cupped.

When Sidney understands what Sasha is offering, he hesitates, looking embarrassed. But Sasha motions him closer, and Sidney obeys, fitting himself into the curve of Sasha’s arm and going along without protest when Sasha pulls him into his chest and wraps both arms around him.

In the shelter of Sasha’s arms, Sidney gradually melts; his breathing slows, and the lines of his body lose much of their tightness. After a minute, he tentatively puts his hands on Sasha’s back, returning Sasha’s embrace.

Sasha sighs and presses his cheek into Sidney’s soft hair, still slightly damp from his post-game shower. “Is good, yes?”

“It’s good,” Sidney confirms. More quietly, into the skin of Sasha’s throat, he says, “I—it feels really nice. To be held.”

“Feels good to hold you, also,” Sasha says. Sidney fits very neatly into his arms, and the ancient, animal part of Sasha’s dominance gets a deep satisfaction from the knowledge that he can calm and soothe a sub with a simple possessive gesture like this.

Sidney shoots a wary look at Sasha through his eyelashes, like he thinks Sasha might be making fun of him. When he sees that Sasha is sincere, his cheeks flush the lightest pink, and his mouth curves up just the slightest bit. He looks more at ease than Sasha’s seen him all night.

Sasha murmurs, “See? Hug is best thing for nerves.”

Sidney tilts his head back to look up at Sasha again – their faces are very close. He licks his lips. “Is… is kissing good for nerves, too?”

Tatiana Ovechkina didn’t raise any fools.

“Yes,” Sasha swears, “kissing _very_ good for nerves.”

He leans in to bridge the few inches that separate their mouths—slowly, to give Sidney time to pull away if he changes his mind—and then presses his lips to Sidney’s. Sidney responds eagerly, pressing himself even closer to Sasha’s body and parting his lips easily for Sasha’s tongue. He’s sweet and yielding – a good kisser, clearly experienced, and a little more assertive in deepening the kiss than Sasha would expect from a sub, which is delightful.

After they break apart, Sasha’s voice comes out rough when he says, “You feel not so much nervous now?”

“Yeah, I. Yes,” Sidney says, big-eyed and tongue-tied.

Sasha grins internally and thinks, _Yeah, still got it._

“Come on,” says Sasha, “we negotiate.”

Sasha leads Sidney through the doorway to the den, up to the couch. He sits down and then observes with interest as Sidney sits right next to him—their thighs almost touching—despite his earlier wariness. _Okay, the making out was a good move_ , Sasha thinks. First, it made Sidney more comfortable with him, but also, with these two clues—Sidney relaxing when Sasha held him, and Sidney sitting so close to Sasha now—he’s now pretty sure that Sidney is the kind of sub that thrives on physical closeness, which is good to know.

Sasha begins, “We talk about safewords first, I think. What you use for safeword, Sidney?”

Sidney hesitates, and Sasha has a moment of dread. _What if he says ‘I don’t need a safeword’ or worse, ‘I’ve never used one’?_

But the pause seems to just be shyness – after a second, Sidney says, “Um, red? Is that okay?”

“For sure okay,” Sasha says firmly. “And yellow for slow down, time out, green for all good?”

Sidney nods.

“Good. I’m use this lots before, so is easy for me.”

Sasha takes a deep breath and decides he’d probably better give the safewords-are-good speech. It’s been a long time since he’s used it, because he doesn’t scene much with inexperienced subs anymore—he’s mostly aged out of that, now that he’s in his mid-twenties—but the fact that Sidney tried to lie to him about whether he was okay with being punched suggests that Sidney may need the reminder that consent should never come second to pleasing a dom… or anything else.

Sasha says, “Look at me.” He waits until Sidney meets his eyes. “Good. Now, sometimes sub think, ‘I can’t use safeword, I’m make dom disappoint.’”

Sidney nods hesitantly – _good_ , Sasha thinks, _at least he’s owning up to having had the thought_.

Holding eye contact, Sasha says, “I understand this think, for sure. But is not right. You use safeword, I’m not disappoint. I’m not mad, I’m not think weak or loser. I’m _proud_.”

“Proud?” Sidney repeats – he looks heartbreakingly bewildered. Then he turns pink and stammers, “S-sorry, I-I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“Proud, yes,” Sasha says firmly. “Because I know use safeword is hard sometimes, yes? Maybe not feel so good, maybe scary. And I’m proud sub is strong, smart – protect self, protect _me_ from do bad thing I’m not want.” Remembering what Sidney had told him earlier about two-faced doms, Sasha adds, “This is not me say one thing but really I want you do other thing. I say I want you use safeword if you need, and I mean this. I promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sidney replies, voice strong and gaze clear – he seems to be sincere, which is reassuring, Sasha thinks.

Sasha decides he’s entitled to a second of mental rest after all that. He’ll pick up with a discussion of limits next, but for a moment, he just strokes his fingertips up Sidney’s cheekbone, admiring the way Sidney’s eyelids flutter closed as he leans into Sasha’s touch. _He really is a work of art_ , Sasha thinks. He leans in to press a quick kiss against Sidney’s lips, then sits back and gets to business.

“So. Now we talk about limits: stuff you don’t do.” Sasha asks directly, “What your limits, Sidney?”

A panicked look flashes over Sidney’s face, and he stammers, “O-oh, um. J-just the—the normal ones, you know.”

Sasha blinks. “What is ‘normal ones’?” he asks, baffled. _Is this some American thing?_ he thinks. _Some pre-set list of limits?_ But Sasha has scened with several American subs by now, and this is the first he’s hearing of it.

Sidney swallows. “Just, the—whatever limits subs normally have. Like, the—the usual ones. That’s—”

“I know what means ‘normal,’ my English not _that_ bad,” Sasha says dryly. _So it’s not a cultural thing_ , he figures… but that almost makes it more perplexing. “Is not such thing, though, ‘normal’ limits,” he says, trying to understand what’s going on here. “Every sub different. Some things easy for one sub, hard for other sub, all this.”

Sidney hesitates, and something clicks painfully into place for Sasha.

“Somebody tell you your limits not ‘normal,’” he says, working hard to keep his tone even – it’s not Sidney he’s angry with. “Somebody make you feel bad about limits, tell you other sub—‘normal’ sub—not have these limits.”

Sidney turns pale, and Sasha can see the muscles all over his body tensing, as if his lizard brain is trying to prepare itself for fight or flight.

“Hey, hey,” Sasha says immediately, voice low. Reacting on instinct, he reaches out and takes Sidney’s free hand between his own, then rubs it firmly the way he’d rub someone’s hands if they’d been out in the cold. “You okay,” he murmurs, “You okay. Nothing for be afraid.”

While he rubs Sidney’s hand, Sasha mentally rehearses a vicious tirade against the twisted, manipulative selfishness of Sidney’s past doms… but he knows better than to say any of it out loud. It would be cathartic for him, personally, but unlike those past doms, Sasha understands that what’s best for Sidney comes before what Sasha would personally find gratifying.

When Sidney no longer looks like he’s about to take off running, Sasha sets aside the hotter, sharper edges of his anger and says only, quietly, “Is fucked-up somebody say that. They full of shit, okay? Your limits good.”

Sidney looks skeptical.

Putting a bit of command into his voice, Sasha tells him, “Say for me: ‘My limits good. My limits okay.’”

“I—”

Sidney hesitates, but when Sasha squeezes his hand and doesn’t break eye contact, Sidney draws in a shaky breath and manages to repeat, “My limits are good. My limits are okay.” His voice is thin and halting, and he doesn’t exactly sound convinced… but for a split-second, just as the last word is coming out of his lips, Sasha can see a heartbreaking flicker of hope in his eyes, the thought, _Maybe it’s true_. And that’s a start, at least.

“Good boy,” Sasha says firmly. His throat’s a little scratchy, for some reason. Moving quickly, trying to keep the momentum going, he says, “Now you tell me five limits.”

Sidney’s eyes bug out. “Five?!”

Sasha suspects, grimly, that Sidney’s incredulity is based on thinking that five is too many, rather than too few. “Five,” he affirms. “You say, ‘Alex, you can’t…’ and then say thing. Here, I’m do one for you, from before: Alex, you can’t punch me. Easy, see?”

The look Sidney gives him is almost angry. “I can’t—I can’t tell you—” he says, with difficulty. “It’s _not_ easy, it feels—I don’t want to be difficult, I don’t want to—to disobey—”

He’s working himself up again, and Sasha’s not sure why: how could it be disobedient for Sidney to express limits when that’s exactly what Sasha told him to do? But he takes what Sidney is saying at face value—if Sidney says it’s hard to tell Sasha what he can’t do, okay, Sasha believes it’s hard—and tries to come at the problem from a different angle.

“Okay,” he says steadily, brushing his thumb over Sid’s knuckles. “Okay. Maybe we say different way, make more easy. If say ‘you can’t’ is hard, then you say, ‘is not okay.’ Like ‘punching is not okay.’ Yes? Now your turn.”

Sid takes in a gulping breath. “Punching is not okay,” he repeats in a shaky voice; immediately, he winces, as if anticipating an angry response.

Sasha very carefully doesn’t move, and he keeps his voice low and quiet. “Good,” he praises, “good boy. Is one. Now two.”

This is when it will fall apart, if it’s going to – now that Sidney has to think of a limit on his own. But the phrasing change seems to have helped; Sidney’s breathing evens out as he thinks, and when he says, “Um… anything that would keep me from playing hockey tomorrow is not okay,” it comes out stronger.

“Good!” Sasha replies, relieved that he was able to get a second one out of Sidney without further coaxing, even if it’s a limit Sasha was taking as a given. “Is good. Now three.”

After another short time for thought, Sidney says, “Um, feeding me is not okay.”

He gives Sasha a wary look, but Sasha nods approvingly. He wonders a little what’s behind that one, but honestly, Sasha could not care less about the _content_ of Sidney’s limits, as long as Sidney is actually setting them. And during aftercare, it’s good for him to know to avoid hand-feeding.

“Good, Sidney, that help me,” he says, squeezing Sidney’s hand again. “Now four?”

Sidney chews on his lower lip for a second, and Sasha has to try hard not to squeeze his hand for a very different reason. _That mouth_, he thinks, allowing himself to be distracted until Sidney says, “I guess… anything that would leave permanent marks is not okay.”

That’s another one Sasha would have taken as a given, but he supposes it’s good that Sidney isn’t taking anything for granted.

“Very good,” he encourages. “You very close now – one more is five.”

This one requires the longest wait time yet, and when Sidney speaks, it’s with an air of defiance, as if he’s expecting this to be the one that sinks everything. “Hitting with a belt is not okay,” he tells Sasha, then gives him a look like, _What are you going to do about that?_

What Sasha is going to do about that is reward him – coming up with those five limits clearly cost him something, and Sasha wants to recognize that. “Five!” he exclaims proudly. “Most good. Five get you kisses.” He pulls Sidney in for a soft brush of lips, which then turns into Sasha’s hands in Sidney’s hair and Sasha’s tongue tangling with Sidney’s, because come on, that _mouth_. And also, after all that, Sasha is of the opinion that they could both use a break.

When he draws back, Sasha says again, “Most good,” a little out of breath. “Now five more.”

“More?!” Sidney looks panicked.

“More,” Sasha confirms, unruffled. “You want normal, ten is very normal number. And if is no more things very bad for you, then you can use things you just don’t like so much, things not so favorite.”

“Things I just don’t _like_?” Sidney repeats, scandalized.

“Yes,” Sasha says – he’s enjoying himself. “And after, I’m make you tell me five things you _like_ , also.”

“Things I like…” Sidney parrots back Sasha’s words again – he sounds completely baffled. “Why?” he asks, as if he can’t think of any reason a dom might want to know what his scene partner enjoys. That kills some of the fun.

“Because I’m meanest dom,” Sasha says, deadpan. Then he huffs out a breath and explains, “Because I want scene is good for _both_ , sweet boy. We gonna do things I like, for sure. But gonna do things you like, too. Is how I dom,” he adds. Sasha’s no service top like Zhenya, but it’s important to him that his subs get something out of his scenes, and he takes pride in working a sub’s favorite turn-ons into scenes where he can.

Although he still looks a little nonplussed, Sidney says, “Okay,” without argument, which Sasha will take as a win.

“So five more limits,” Sasha prompts.

Sidney squirms a little, but eventually he says, “Cutting is not okay.”

“Cutting?” Sasha blinks. “What means…”

“Like knives, blood—”

“Ah, yes,” Sasha says, nodding. “Okay. I understand. Good. Now four more.”

“Burning is not okay,” Sidney says, and this time he doesn’t wait for Sasha to ask before giving examples. “Like, fire, or brands, or stuff like that…”

 _He’s a fast learner,_ Sasha thinks with approval, and he says, “Is two, good! Three?”

Sidney hesitates a little before saying, “Choking is not okay.”

Sasha nods. He’s not opposed to breathplay with a partner he knows well, but he’d never do it with a hookup. “Very smart, again,” he praises. “Next one, four?”

Sidney is silent for a long minute, but the look on his face gives Sasha the impression he’s thinking, not balking. Eventually, he says in a small voice, “I don’t know how to explain this one, and it’s not an absolute thing anyway, like, it might be okay or not, I just—”

“Just try,” Sasha urges, stroking Sidney’s hand. “Is okay if you don’t know perfect way to say.”

Sidney fumbles a little as he speaks, but he perseveres. “I guess I’m… pretending I’m not me is—is probably not okay. I mean, it depends, but, um, pretending I’m, like, an animal, or, like, furniture, or a-a famous person, or a baby, like, I just—” Sidney stops and breathes in. Looking at their joined hands, he says softly, “I think I just want to be myself. If that’s okay.”

Sasha wants to fucking stand up and applaud. Not only did Sidney just express a complex soft limit that’s actually quite broad, he even used the words “I want.” That _definitely_ deserves a kiss, and Sasha gives him one. Sidney’s muffled squeak of surprise when Sasha swoops in to press their lips together is delightful, and the soft, pleased moan he gives when Sasha licks his mouth open is even better. It’s a wrench for Sasha to pull back and break the kiss, but he knows they’re not done here.

“ _Very_ good,” he says, tapping a finger on Sidney’s chin. “And so close now! Five, sweet boy?”

“Um…” After the last few had come out so confidently, Sasha’s a little surprised that the last one is taking so long. But Sidney really does appear to be racking his brain, and Sasha decides to take pity on him.

“Five you can keep in pocket, okay? For later.”

“Oh!” Sidney looks surprised, then gives Sasha a tentative smile. “Um, okay.”

“And now, we do likes,” declares Sasha. This part should be easy. “You say, ‘I like kissing,’ or ‘I like praise,’ yes?”

But Sidney hesitates. “I want to give you what _you_ like,” he says quietly.

“Hmm.” Sasha thinks for a second, then offers, “Here: I promise after you do five likes, I do five likes, too. Okay?”

“Okay.” Sidney draws in a breath and holds it while he thinks. Eventually, he says, “I—I like having my hands tied,” and gives Sasha a plaintive look, like, _Is that okay?_

“Awesome,” Sasha replies, squeezing Sidney’s hand for reassur—oh.

_Oh._

Sasha smiles, moves his hand up to wrap around Sidney’s wrist, and squeezes, just short of hard enough to hurt. The reaction is everything he could have hoped for: Sidney’s eyes go dark and liquid, and he makes a breathy sound that’s almost a moan.

Softly, Sasha says, “See how good is when you tell me truth about what you like?” He holds Sidney’s gaze until Sidney nods, wide-eyed. “Good.” He lets go, and then gives Sidney a moment to collect himself before asking, “You say tie – you like other bondage, too? Cuffs good?”

“I… yeah,” Sidney answers quickly, “cuffs would be great.”

“Good,” Sasha says, relieved. Zhenya made him learn a couple of basic rope ties, but he’s much more comfortable using the cuffs Zhenya helped him pick out – bondage is not really Sasha’s area of expertise. “You say hands, too – other bondage good? Ankles?”

“Um, yeah,” Sidney says, a little shy. “It’s… ankles are good. Probably most places are good.”

“Nice.” Sasha nods. “So one… now two?”

Sidney chews on his lower lip while he thinks. It’s distractingly red. Finally, he says, “I like—uh, I need to have. Marks. I—for people to see.” He gives Sasha a steady look.

“Hot,” Sasha proclaims, because _damn_. “You gonna get that, I promise. Now three.”

Sidney spends some more thought on that, but apparently he doesn’t come up with anything, because he throws Sasha a pleading look.

 _I gave you a freebie_ , Sasha thinks, curious. _‘I like praise.’_ So either Sidney hasn’t noticed that he’s easy for a word of praise, or he’s ashamed of it. Well, if Sasha has to lead him into it, he will.

Sasha tilts his head to the side and asks, “I ask you before what you want I call you, and I fuck up and don’t get answer: Sidney is okay? Sid?”

“Sid is fine,” Sidney—Sid—says, looking a little confused.

“And also I notice I’m call you good boy, sweet boy, things like this: that’s okay? You like?”

Sid turns pink and looks at the floor.

 _So, he knows he likes it, and he’s ashamed_ , Sasha concludes.

When Sid answers, it comes out as a whisper. “I like it. I like when you… call me those things. Um. Nice things.”

“Good!” Sasha exclaims. “Is three!”

Sid look up, startled – when he sees that Sasha means it, he smiles back tentatively. “Yeah, I guess it is. Um, four. Okay. Four.”

Sasha decides to continue with the helping hand. “You like be good? Like, if I give order, you like obey and get reward, or you like disobey and get punish?”

Sid looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Of _course_ I want to be good – how would I—who wants to be _punished?_ ”

Sasha very carefully does not laugh, or even smile. “Lots of subs want punish, or want disobey,” he informs Sid—how can he not know this? “You know ‘brat,’ yes?”

Sid goes rigid. “I’ve heard the word, yeah,” he says, heavy with irony. Then his shoulders curve in and he says quietly to his folded hands, “That’s not me. It’s not.”

“Okay,” Sasha says gently – he clearly touched on a sore spot, and knowing the kind of crap Sid gets on the ice, he’s pretty sure he knows why. “Is okay either way, but know which one is you is help me a lot. Is very bad for scene if you set sub up for punish, and you think is gonna be fun, and then sub take it hard and make very sad. So now I know, yes? Is good four.”

“Oh.” Sid looks surprised again, but pleasantly so. More cheerfully, he says, “Okay.”

“And now five,” Sasha prompts. The last two were pretty much gimmes: Sid had said or done things earlier tonight that made Sasha pretty sure how it was going to come out. But he’s run out of clues, so his hand-holding is going to need to get a little more creative. “Here,” he offers, “maybe is help if you think of favorite best part of last time you scene. What’s favorite part?”

Sid’s face smooths out – he seems to find this question easier. “Well, my favorite part was probably the bondage,” he answers. “But, um. He.” Sid blushes. In a very quiet voice, he says, “I liked that he let me come. I liked that he let me earn that. Um. You don’t have to. I just liked it.”

“Five! Very good boy,” Sasha praises, smiling while his brain works away at Sid’s words. There were two concepts in there, although he’s not sure that Sid meant to mention them both: first, that Sid wants an orgasm at the end of the scene, which is totally reasonable, but second, that he enjoyed being given an opportunity to _earn_ that orgasm, or enjoyed having it described as a reward. That’s a subtle inflection, but it matters. _Something to keep in mind_ , Sasha thinks, intrigued.

He continues, “Okay, now, my turn. Five things I like. One, I like embarrass, make you blush.”

Predictably, and delightfully, Sid blushes again.

“Cute,” Sasha crows, patting Sid’s red cheek… which, of course, only makes Sid flush harder. What does Sasha need nasty names for? He can embarrass Sid by saying _nice_ things. It’s delectable.

“Okay, two, I like marks, so you and me, we same on that.” As Sasha says that, he ponders what, specifically, that should mean for the scene that’s starting to come together in his mind. Sasha has noticed that he often falls into a mental trap that a lot of sadists share: when he thinks _pain_ , he tends to default to impact play unless the sub asks for something specific. But even though Sid only explicitly ruled out impact with fists and belts, Sasha suspects that’s a clue to a more general preference on Sid’s part. So: no impact. Fortunately, Sasha’s very favorite way to inflict pain also leaves beautiful marks, and doesn’t involve impact play at all.

He asks, in a casual tone, “What you think about bite?”

Sid blinks. “I… I don’t know. I haven’t tried it.”

Sasha is interested to note that the neutral “what do you think about…” question seemed to garner a more honest answer than the more weighted “do you like…” questions. It’s good to know that those kinds of subtleties can help, if also slightly terrifying: Sasha’s made his peace with negotiating scenes in his second language, but that doesn’t make it _comfortable_.

He’s also kind of appalled that nobody has ever put their teeth in this beautiful man before. What is wrong with the doms in this fucking country?

He offers, “You want to try? Now?”

Sid looks surprised again, but right away he says, “Um, sure.”

Sasha chooses a spot at the join of Sid’s neck and shoulder – with Sid still in his game day outfit, there aren’t a lot of exposed safe places to bite. He unbuttons one more button on Sid’s shirt, just to give himself room to work, and Sid’s breathing picks up.

Once he’s uncovered his spot, Sasha traces over it with his fingertips, making Sid shiver. Then he repeats the motion with his lips. When he opens his mouth, he can feel Sid tense, but Sasha just licks the patch of skin, once quickly and lightly, and then slow and luxurious.

In a thin voice, Sid says, “You can—you can just—”

“Shhh,” Sasha whispers. “I’m make nice and sensitive first.”

That earns another shiver.

When Sasha has well and truly sensitized his spot, he grazes his teeth over it gently, then harder, and then sets his teeth and begins to bite down. He lets the pressure build gradually, so gradually, paying very careful attention to every twitch of Sid’s body – partly to watch for a bad reaction, but also just to savor Sid’s submission under his bite like he would savor a mouthful of fine caviar.

When he reaches a satisfying pressure, one that pulls a low grunt out of Sid’s chest, he works Sid’s shoulder back and forth in his mouth, worrying at it, drinking up the give in Sid’s skin and the hiss coming from between Sid’s own teeth. Finally, when he’s sure he’s left a nice, lasting bruise, he gradually backs off the pressure, easing up until the bite is no more than a kiss.

When Sasha sits back to check in with Sid, he has to pause to drink in the expression on Sid’s face: soft-edged, hazy, with a touch of wonder.

“I liked it,” he tells Sasha, honey-slow, eyes wide.

“I like, too,” Sasha replies, pleased. “So, good: we do in scene.” He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to adjust himself. He has a feeling that if he does, this negotiation is going to go off the rails. “So now I need four… four is I like pull hair,” which is another way that Sasha enjoys causing pain without impact.

“Okay,” says Sid – he’s a little slow to answer, but as far as Sasha can tell, that’s left over from the bite, not a sign of reluctance.

Finding himself increasingly eager to wrap this up and get to the next phase, Sasha mentally runs through his greatest hits of no-hitting sadism, and concludes with, “And five is I like push bruises. I bet you have lots of nice bruises, from hockey, yes?”

“I do,” Sid agrees. He bites his lip. “Push bruises, like… making them worse?”

Sasha would be _thrilled_ to deepen Sid’s existing bruises, to fucking _lean_ on them until Sid cries out—but he can take a hint.

“Sometimes,” he says, shrugging. “But tonight, I just want push enough for hurt. Is nice, have places already sensitive, you know? Like this.” Sasha presses the pads of his fingers against the darkening bite mark on Sid’s shoulder, and Sid gasps.

“What you think?” Sasha asks, watching Sid intently. “Bad or good?”

“Good,” Sid says, still with that note of wonder, like he’s surprised to feel good things at a dom’s hands at all – it breaks Sasha’s fucking heart.

Sasha skims his fingertips over the bite mark again, lightly this time, closing his eyes for a moment as the lingering imprint of his teeth passes under his touch. He vows to himself again, _I’m going to be so fucking careful. I’m going to be worthy of this. I am._

“Okay,” he says out loud. There’s certainly more they could talk about, but he thinks this is enough to go on with. He recaps, “Here’s list of stuff I’m maybe do in scene: I’m bite, and push bruises, and put cuffs on wrists and ankles, and call you nice names, and make you embarrass, and pull hair, and make sure always you know what I want you do, be clear. And if you good, I let you come. And list of things I’m for sure not do is I’m not hit, I’m not call mean names, I’m not cut or burn or choke, I’m not make permanent mark or make you can’t play hockey, and I’m not do role play. Okay?”

Sid looks a little surprised, but not in a bad way, and just says, “Okay.”

“And I’m not fuck you tonight,” Sasha says bluntly, “but maybe blowjobs – you want condom for that? I’m not care.”

Sid shakes his head. “If you really don’t care, then no, I’d rather not use a condom for oral. The taste is… not great.”

“Okay, is good with me.”

Sasha would very much like to get this show on the road, but there’s one more thing they absolutely have to discuss. “Have to talk about aftercare, too: you can sleep here, or is curfew?”

Sid replies, “Curfew.”

“Ugh.” Sasha makes a face. That makes things complicated. Plus, Sasha _likes_ giving aftercare, and he doesn’t like rushing it. He thinks quickly, then says, “Okay, then I’m take you to hotel before curfew. I’m stay in car so nobody see me, but I’m need give you to person for take care.”

He can see right away that Sid doesn’t like that at _all_.

“I don’t want anybody to know—”

“Then you miss curfew, stay here and I’m take care of you,” Sasha says firmly.

“I can just go up to somebody’s room—”

Sasha raises an eyebrow. “If I drop you off to hotel, you go inside, you really go to somebody for aftercare? Or you just go to room all alone, not want to bother other person?”

 _Yeah, that’s a direct hit_ , Sasha thinks, as a guilty wince flickers over Sid’s face. Pressing his moment of advantage, he prods, “Who is? Who is person you trust for take care?”

He’s half-expecting Sid to say Zhenya’s name, since Zhenya appears to be one of the few decent doms Sid knows, but instead, Sid says, “Flower. Um, Fleury. He can help me.”

Sasha would rather hand Sid over to another dom, but maybe that’s just prejudice – subs have to know about aftercare, too, to know whether they’re getting what they should. “Okay. You text him now for tell him to meet you later and give aftercare.”

Sid gives Sasha a _do I have to?_ look, which Sasha responds to with a nod. There’s no way he’s starting a scene without knowing for sure that the sub will get proper aftercare.

As Sid pulls out his phone and starts texting, Sasha takes a deep breath. _I should really fucking plan something_ , he thinks. Sasha is a big believer in playing scenes by ear, tailoring his techniques to the sub’s reactions, but he knows it’s not smart to _totally_ wing it, especially with a new partner.

 _So, okay – cuffs on Sid’s wrists and ankles_ , he starts _. That’s the easy part._ Sasha also very much wants to see if there’s a way to play with humiliation that won’t brush up against Sid’s sore spots, so… _Why don’t I make him crawl,_ he thinks, _just a little bit, and see how that makes him feel._ Sasha’s never tried using crawling in a scene all by itself, without the verbal techniques to go with it, but it’s something he enjoys. He has a hunch that Sid will like it, too, but he won’t put too much weight on that hunch without testing it.

Sid looks up from his phone. “Um. I’m done. He says I can text him when we’re outside the hotel, and he’ll come down.”

“Good.” Sasha leans in to kiss Sid’s cheek. “So now – you ready? If you ready, we go up to bedroom.”

Sid sets his shoulders and pulls in a breath. “I’m ready,” he says decisively.

“Then come on, sweet boy, I’m show you where magic happen.” Sasha wiggles his eyebrows as he says it, and is pleased when Sid giggles.

Sasha likes the way that laughter looks on Sid: the spark in his eyes, the way the tension shakes out of his shoulders and the lines of his face soften. He doesn’t want to lose that, to watch Sid get all tense and wary again, so when they get halfway up the stairs, he takes the opportunity to pin Sid to the wall and kiss him thoroughly.

When their lips reluctantly part, Sid smiles a little and asks, “What was that for?”

“I don’t want you get nervous again,” Sasha explains.

He’s perfectly sincere, but Sid’s smile widens, and he says teasingly, “Oh, is that why?”

 _He’s giving me shit,_ Sasha thinks, delighted by this flash of confidence, this hint of fire. _In the softest, shyest way, but still._

“You think no?” Sasha asks, keeping his own tone light and teasing – he wants to draw out more of that fire, not scare Sid into smothering it. “You think maybe I just like your mouth?” He strokes the full curve of Sid’s lower lip with his thumb.

Sid’s cheeks flush, which is interesting—and attractive—but he doesn’t back down from Sasha’s challenge.

“Do you?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sasha says simply, and he proves it with another deep kiss. “Come on. Bedroom.”

For Sasha, walking into his bedroom always settles him. Not all doms are territorial, but _he_ is, and being here, in the place in the world that is most _his_ , makes everything feel a little smoother, a little safer. It’s one reason why Sasha prefers to scene here, instead of in a separate room, or his partner’s home. But he’s very aware that it can have the opposite effect on a sub, especially one who doesn’t know him well, and Sasha makes a point of leaving the bedroom door open – he doesn’t want Sid to feel trapped.

“Kneel for me,” Sasha tells Sid, quietly.

Without a sound, Sid kneels at Sasha’s feet and bows his head, eyes on the floor.

“Good boy.” Sasha strokes Sid’s cheek with his fingertips. Keeping his voice low, he tells Sid, “I’m get things ready for scene—cuffs, bed, these things—and you wait here. And I know you maybe still some nervous, so I want you close eyes, breathe slow, and think about how good is gonna feel when I put cuffs on you. Think about how much you like that feeling. And if you still nervous, you just tell me and I’m give more kisses.”

Eyes shut, Sid says, “Okay.”

“Good boy.”

Sasha sets a hand briefly on the crown of Sid’s head. Then he walks over to his domming wardrobe. He takes out his safety kit and sets it by the side of the chair he’s going to be sitting in, within easy reach. Then he pulls out the black neoprene cuffs—a gift from Zhenya, who told him they were a good choice for a dom who doesn’t use bondage that often—and a couple lengths of steel chain with clips to attach them to the cuffs. He turns down the covers on the bed, and sets out some lube and baby wipes on the nightstand.

As Sasha goes through his preparations, he’s surprised to notice that _he’s_ nervous, too. He isn’t, usually, before a scene, especially here in his own territory… but it makes sense. There are so many unknowns here, and he feels a heavy sense of responsibility, knowing how poorly Sid has been treated before.

 _Just keep it simple_ , he tells himself. _Stick to your comfort zone, things you know you can do well._

He takes a minute to follow his own advice: to close his eyes, breathe deeply, and think about how good it’s going to feel to sink his teeth into Sid’s gorgeous muscles and hear him moan in mingled pain and pleasure.

His cock twitches as he pictures it, and Sasha smiles. _Yes,_ he thinks, _this will be good._

“Okay, sweet boy,” he asks, “you ready to start?”

“Yes, Alex.”

Sasha notes, pleased, that Sid’s eyes are still closed.

He sits in his big, padded armchair, up against the west wall of the room, and says, “Good boy for keep eyes closed. You can open now.”

When Sid opens his eyes, it takes him a second to find Sasha; when he does, he gives Sasha a tentative smile and says softly, “Hi, Alex.”

 _Adorable_ , Sasha thinks, fondly. He smiles back and says, “Hi, pretty. We start now. Come here.” He beckons to Sid. When Sid starts to get to his feet, Sasha shakes his head and says reprovingly, “I don’t say you can stand.”

Sid drops back to his knees right away, but he looks confused, shooting Sasha a helpless look as if to say, _Then what am I supposed to do?_

For a second, Sasha revels in it—that confusion, that helplessness—before catching himself. _This isn’t right,_ he realizes. _I promised him clear orders, that he’d always know what I want from him, and here I am, playing around and doing the opposite of that, expecting him to figure it out himself._ That’s fine—and fun—with an experienced sub, watching them struggle their way to the right answer, but for _this_ scene with _this_ sub, it’s unacceptable.

He scolds himself, _Get your fucking head in the game_ , and then sets out to fix his mistake.

“Sorry, sweet boy – I mean you crawl to me,” Sasha clarifies, keeping his voice gentle. “Hands and knees.”

When Sid understands what Sasha is asking, red flares across his cheeks, as if he’s been slapped. He rocks back onto his heels for a second and his chest heaves as he breathes unevenly. Sasha can read the thought passing across his face, clear as day: _Am I really going to do this?_

That’s not a question Sasha can answer for him, so he keeps his mouth shut and waits. From Sid’s red cheeks and hesitation, Sasha can tell that Sid does find crawling humiliating, which is an important piece of information; some subs don’t, and if Sid was one of them, this wouldn’t do much for Sasha. It’s not the crawling itself that he finds sexy and powerful – it’s the sub’s reaction. But what Sasha doesn’t yet know—what _Sid_ may not even know—is whether this is a kind of humiliation that Sid is willing to accept… and more importantly, whether this is something that will be good and satisfying and healthy for Sid’s submission.

Sid pulls in a quick breath and haltingly folds forward until his hands are on the carpet. His eyes are fixed on the floor, and his face is still bright red, and Sasha’s pulse is racing already, just from watching. _Beautiful boy_ , he thinks fiercely, feeling his dominance sing inside himself like a string vibrating in sympathy with another sound, _yes, you can do it—_

Sid is only about five feet away, which Sasha arranged on purpose—since this is only a test to see if crawling would be okay for Sid, he didn’t want to ask too much. It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to crawl to Sasha’s feet, but his movements are jerky and awkward, and Sasha can see the mental effort that it cost him.

“So good boy,” Sasha says, with feeling, stroking his hand through Sid’s hair. Sid presses his face against Sasha’s thigh, hiding – it’s a shame to miss that sweet humiliation on his face, that gorgeous blush, but Sasha lets him do it. “Very, very good boy. Is hard for you, I know. How that feel?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sid says into the outer seam of Sasha’s slacks. “It made my stomach feel… squirmy, I guess.”

Alarmed, Sasha asks, “Like you gonna throw up?”

“No,” Sid says immediately, so that’s something. “Just, like… embarrassed, I guess. Uncomfortable. But.” His voice drops to a whisper, and his cheeks flame again. “It… it made me, um.” He glances down at his own lap.

“Ohhh. Make you hard, hmm?”

“It… yeah.” Sid chews on his lip a little. He adds, “It didn’t feel good – not exactly. But it didn’t feel bad, either. Just kind of… difficult and a lot. And, um, sexy? But I don’t know why. I—”

He breaks off, looking frustrated. “I don’t know the right words.”

“Don’t worry,” Sasha says, in a confiding tone. “In English, is happen to me _alllllll_ the time.”

That gets a smile out of Sid, which was Sasha’s intent.

“Hey, you do very good tell me all this stuff. Proud of you.”

Sid drags in a shaky breath and presses himself in closer to Sasha’s body.

Sasha weighs his words, and then asks carefully, “What you think if I tell you crawl to bed for me? Naked?”

He can feel Sid’s flinch along the outside of his thigh, and hear the gasp that escapes Sid’s parted lips, but he was expecting those – he could tell from Sid’s surprise earlier that crawling is something new to him. Sasha just keeps stroking Sid’s hair, giving him some time to consider the idea.

Whatever thoughts and pictures are running through Sid’s head, they make his breathing unsteady… and once, he makes a little helpless noise in the back of his throat. But when he finally goes still and quiet, and his breathing slows, Sasha can tell what his answer is going to be: the curve of Sid’s shoulders and the bend of Sid’s neck are graceful with submission, not heavy with defeat.

“I think it would be hard,” Sid whispers, looking at the ground. “But I think I—I think I would want to.”

“Then you very good, brave boy,” Sasha says, pressing a kiss to Sid’s forehead. “And maybe we do later.” He sits back and orders, “But now you take off clothes for me – and do slow. I want to see what I’m get.”

That makes Sid blush, too—which was the intended result—but he nods quickly. He unbuttons his shirt and slowly tugs it off, revealing his broad shoulders and thick arms.

“Nice,” Sasha says approvingly, running his hands over the muscular curves. He sees built bodies every day, but context is everything, and knowing these muscles are there for him to sink his teeth into makes it delicious.

Sid’s tank top comes off next, baring a hairless chest and dark pink nipples, which Sasha pinches, just for fun – not too hard.

When Sid’s fly is undone and his hands go to push down his slacks, he hesitates. Sasha can see the debate on his face—stand, or stay on his knees—but he gets the right answer in the end. The way he flushes at his own awkwardness as he tries to contort himself out of his pants and briefs without leaving his knees makes it even better.

 _I could eat that up with a spoon_ , Sasha thinks, shivering with delight.

Naked, he looks up at Sasha for direction—then, apparently thinking better of it, he forces his gaze down and whispers, “Sorry.”

Some doms like subs to keep their eyes down, but Sasha would much rather be able to see a sub’s face – it’s a good source of information, first, about how they’re feeling, but it also just plain turns him on. For him, it’s the sub’s reactions that make domming satisfying in the first place.

“Not have to be sorry,” he tells Sid. “You can look at me – I like.”

“Oh,” Sid says softly. He looks up at Sasha again, still with an anxious tightness in the corners of his eyes.

“You do good,” Sasha assures him, stroking the backs of his fingers over Sid’s cheek. “I’m put cuffs now, so you sit and put feet in front.”

Sid nods and settles into a sitting position, pulling his knees up in front of him so Sasha has clear access to his ankles.

Back when Zhenya gave Sasha these cuffs, he made Sasha practice putting them on over and over, until the actions became instinctive. As Sasha goes through the ritual now—check wrist and forearm, wrap the cuff around, tighten and close, two fingers underneath—he’s grateful all over again for Zhenya’s expertise. The cuffs go on easily, even around Sid’s monster forearms, and the chain Sasha clips on provides some restriction, but leaves Sid with some range of motion. The larger cuffs go on just as easily around Sid’s ankles.

After Sasha clips the second length of chain to the ankle cuffs, he examines his own work and nods, satisfied. “Good. Now you… pull—” He mimes pulling his wrists apart. “—for make sure you can’t get out.”

Sid obeys, tugging at the cuffs… but hesitantly, and not with anything approaching his real strength. The reason for his half-heartedness becomes clear when he confesses earnestly, “I… I don’t _want_ to get out, though,” blinking up at Sasha, as if he’s afraid there might have been some misunderstanding.

 _Oh, he really is too fucking cute_ , Sasha thinks, charmed. He very carefully keeps a straight face and replies, “But I think is good to know if you _can_. Good for you—good feeling—and important for me, so I know if cuffs hold or not.”

Sid nods, determined, and tugs the cuffs apart, for real this time, testing the strength of the cuffs and chains. When they hold, he makes a pleased noise and tips his head to one side, looking up at Sasha out of the corner of his eye. “You were right,” he says shyly. “It does feel nice. To know.”

Sasha can’t resist the urge to reach out and ruffle Sid’s hair. “Nice for me, too,” he says, which is true enough, in an abstract way; even if Sasha doesn’t get any special satisfaction from having a sub bound, there’s an inherent pleasure in having command of his technique.

He’s also pleased—and fascinated—to see the effect that the cuffs have on Sid. Now that Sid knows he’s securely held, the shadow of anxiousness in his face has melted away, and his hands have come to rest, still and relaxed, in his lap. His breathing has slowed to match Sasha’s own, and his gaze has a steadiness that Sasha most often sees after the first dozen strokes or so, in his usual kind of scene: the calm and confidence that settles over a sub when they know for sure that they’re going to get what they need.

 _Or the look that was probably on my face when he said he would crawl for me, or when he shivered under my bite_ , Sasha thinks ruefully. _It’s not like that feeling is just for subs_.

When he tells Sid to kneel again, he gets to enjoy the awkwardness with which Sid squirms around, trying to get his legs back underneath him with his ankles bound together. He wonders, idly, if he’s been overlooking the humiliation potential of bondage all this time, or if it’s something particular to Sid: if it’s particularly embarrassing to an athlete, so accustomed to having mastery over his own body, to be suddenly graceless, trying to master a body that’s constrained. Either way, it’s beautiful.

With Sid now back on his knees before Sasha, bound and blushing, Sasha pets Sid’s hair and tries to decide where to go from here. He could make Sid crawl again, but he feels like that would require more buildup. He could bite Sid, or play with his bruises; he could pull Sid’s hair, or just pet and praise him for a while as he settles into the bondage. There are good things about all of the options and none of them pulls at Sasha more immediately than the others.

There’s a trick Sasha’s mother taught him for moments like this, when he’s not sure what direction a scene should go next – a way to let his submissive partner lead the way, without breaking the power dynamic between them.

He taps Sid’s cheek until Sid looks up and meets his eyes; holding Sid’s gaze, Sasha asks seriously, “You want this? You want submit to me?”

“Yes,” Sid replies right away. He sounds very sure.

“Then show me,” Sasha says, voice low, but with all the force of his dominance behind it. “Show me you want.”

Sasha has to be careful here: although he’s not violating the _spirit_ of his promise to give clear orders, because there’s no wrong answer here and no risk of punishment, he recognizes that Sid might perceive an order like this as a violation of the _letter_ of that promise. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he’s watching Sid’s face and posture very closely, ready to change course if Sid seems lost or upset.

Sid looks surprised for a second at the order, but he doesn’t tense up, and there’s no distress or confusion on his face. He gives Sasha a questioning glance—probably to check whether Sasha is planning on following up with specifics. But Sasha just keeps his face open and patient. He’s not interested in pushing Sid in some particular way: the whole point is to see which way Sid will go on his own.

When Sid realizes that Sasha really just wants to see what _he_ wants, he sits back a little on his heels and studies Sasha, as shyly and indirectly as he can, given that they’re only a foot apart. The look that dawns on his face is hopeful, and there’s a flattering eagerness to the way Sid moistens his lips with his tongue. Slowly but determinedly, he knee-walks in closer to Sasha, until his shoulders are bracketed between Sasha’s knees.

Barely breathing, in a moment of perfect quiet, Sid leans forward, eyes closed, and presses a soft, reverent kiss to the cloth-covered bulge of Sasha’s cock. The touch of his lips is so light that it barely registers with Sasha’s body – but for Sasha’s dominance, it’s another story. The kiss is a breathtakingly pure act of worship, simple and sincere, and it makes him feel ten feet tall, makes his heart swell with tenderness and pride.

His mother uses the phrase _the flower of dominance_ sometimes, and he’s never really understood what she was talking about. But now he thinks he knows what she means: he _feels_ like he’s unfolding, blossoming in the light of Sid’s worship – of Sid’s trust, not easily given, and his obedience. At the same time, he feels as high and bright as the sun, watching Sid bend for him and turn toward him with a singular focus, as if Sasha’s attention and direction give him life.

“Beautiful boy,” Sasha says, and it comes out hoarse – his throat is thick with emotion.

Sid’s eyes flutter open, and he peeks up at Sasha with uncertainty, like he thinks he might have done something wrong.

“You do good,” Sasha assures him. He cups Sid’s cheek tenderly. “Very good. You like my cock, hmm?”

Sid blushes, and Sasha can feel the heat of it against his palm.

“I-I do.”

“Do what?” Sasha prompts. He keeps his voice low and gentle – not just to keep from spooking Sid, but because it feels right. They’re on hallowed ground, here, in this moment.

In a voice so faint it’s nearly a whisper, Sid replies, “I do like your cock.” It’s clearly hard for him to say – he’s blushing furiously again, and there’s a deep vulnerability in the darkness of his eyes, just like there had been when Sasha made him crawl. But Sasha can see how it feeds him, too: how his breath comes faster, his hands clench on his thighs, and the lines of his face grow taut with need.

 _So… making him crawl or do things on his knees, yes, those are part of his submission; but this, too: pushing him to say dirty things, explicit things_ , Sasha notes, intrigued. _Making him_ admit _to dirty things, even if they’re simple._ Now he knows that those are _good_ ways that he can humiliate Sid, ways that don’t cross Sid’s boundaries or remind him of things he doesn’t want brought into the bedroom. And they’re things that suit Sasha very well, even if they’re different from his usual humiliation technique.

Sid then surprises Sasha by saying, “I wan—no,” he cuts himself off, “sorry—”

“Tell me what you want, sweet boy,” Sasha insists, thrilled that Sid felt comfortable enough even to _begin_ to ask for something. “If you don’t tell me, how I’m decide if I give or no, hm? If you _deserve_ or no,” he adds, knowing that the idea of _earning_ is powerful for Sid.

Sid struggles for a few seconds—Sasha can see it on his face—but he obeys. Cheeks crimson, he asks quietly, “May I… may I suck you?”

Oh, he makes it so easy for Sasha. And now that Sasha knows that this is a kind of humiliation that can feed them both, he’s going to take full advantage. “Suck what, pretty?” he asks, affecting ignorance. “Suck my fingers?”

“No, I—may I suck your cock?” And yes, there it is: that beautiful bloom of embarrassment across his face. Sasha drinks it up – it makes it hard for him to keep his hands off of his dick. _Can I push him for more? Just a little?_ Sasha wonders. He studies Sid’s face, the tension in his body, and decides, _Yes._

“I know you know how to ask nice,” he says, with the very slightest hint of reproach.

“Please,” Sid says, appropriately abashed. His eyes are wet. “P-please, may I suck your cock?”

Sasha has to close his eyes for a moment to savor it—the words, the tone of voice, the whole exquisite tableau of Sid bound and begging and ashamed at his feet. _Fuck, that’s good_ , he thinks, feeling like the king of the world. His eyes flutter open again, and he reaches out to stroke Sid’s lips.

“Beg so sweet,” Sasha praises, “and I like very much.”

He does himself a favor and unzips his pants; it’s such a relief that he almost gasps. He shoves his open slacks down until they puddle around his ankles, then studies Sid’s face – wide open, yearning but not desperate, patiently waiting for Sasha’s verdict.

“I think, yes, I’m let,” Sasha decides, “but… not yet. I’m make you show me, first. Show me how much you like my cock. Like before.” After all, Sasha doesn’t know how anyone could ever get tired of having their cock worshiped – certainly _he_ never does. And he has a feeling he’s not likely to have his cock worshiped by anyone else as sweetly as this beautiful boy will do it.

Sid nods, charmingly determined. “I will,” he promises. He gives Sasha’s cock a longing look that’s a damn good start.

“Then come on, pretty,” Sasha says, widening his legs and gesturing down at his crotch.

Sid shuffles closer and then leans in to nuzzle Sasha’s cock through his underwear. His eyes slide closed in pleasure, and he pauses to take a deep, ecstatic breath in, obviously enjoying the scent. Then he burrows down to the root of Sasha’s cock, as close as he can get with the underwear in the way, and starts blanketing it with kisses.

“Fuck,” Sasha groans. His legs fall open even wider. The friction is dry but still good, and the earnest enthusiasm of Sid’s worship is even better.

As Sid sets to his task, kissing and nuzzling Sasha’s hardening dick, Sasha’s eye catches on the bite mark he left on the side of Sid’s neck earlier.

Wistfully, he thinks, _That looks so good – I wish I could give him a dozen more_.

Well, why shouldn’t he?

Sasha bends over Sid’s head and shoulders, looking for a spot he can sink his teeth into without disrupting Sid’s work.

Sid pauses and asks uncertainly, “Alex?”

“You doing very good,” Sasha reassures him, stroking his bare back. “You don’t stop – I’m just gonna give you some more nice bite marks.”

“’kay,” Sid says, instantly relaxed again. He returns to his task of—fuck, _licking_ Sasha’s cock, wet enough to feel through the fabric. Sasha groans and tries not to get distracted.

He selects a spot on the right side of Sid’s back. He has to arch his own back to make it work, and it’s kind of an awkward position, he thinks as he scrapes his teeth over the patch of skin—

Immediately, Sid gasps at the contact, and Sasha can physically _feel_ the rush of air on his dick, and when Sid moans as Sasha begins to bite down in earnest, Sasha can feel _that_ on his cock, too, the vibrations—

 _Did I say awkward?_ Sasha thinks, dazed. _I meant amazing. This is an amazing position._

Sid continues making delightful—if muffled—noises as Sasha’s mouth carves bruises into his skin, and Sid’s own mouth continues lavishing attention on Sasha’s dick. The twin streams of pain inflicted and pleasure received pull Sasha into a kind of reverie, almost a trance, as he leaves his curved marks across any patch of Sid’s back or shoulders he can reach.

Suddenly—

“Ah!”

Sasha’s hips jerk at the sensation of a wet tongue flicking over the head of his cock, uninterrupted by cloth. He sits up and looks down; Sid has successfully nuzzled Sasha’s erection right out of the opening in his briefs and is now stroking his lips over the bare underside.

His trance broken, Sasha realizes he’s closer to the edge of orgasm than he realized. He pulls Sid’s head back with a hand in his hair – gently, so Sid doesn’t perceive it as a punishment.

The look on Sid’s face is dreamy, blissful – his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and his lips so red.

Sasha asks, “How you feel, sweet boy?”

“Good.” A touch of anxiety creeps into Sid’s expression, and he asks, hesitantly, “Did I—was it good enough? Did I earn it?”

“Can’t earn if you can’t say,” Sasha says firmly. “What you want to earn, pretty?”

Sid blushes but perseveres. “Did I,” he says very quietly, “did I earn y-your cock?” He gives it another longing look, then flicks his gaze up to Sasha’s face.

“Yes, beautiful boy,” Sasha murmurs. He had wanted to play around more with Sid’s bruises, but to deny Sid at this point would just torture them both. Besides, there’s no reason he can’t combine the blowjob and the bruise-play, if he arranges it right. “Yes, you earn my cock, and I’m let you suck me until I come in your pretty mouth.” As he speaks, Sasha pushes off his underwear – he’ll want Sid to have some room to work.

“Thank you, oh, I—thank you,” Sid babbles, wide-eyed.

Not unkindly, Sasha asks, “You want to thank, or you want to suck?”

Sid takes in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t seem hurt. He shoots Sasha one last shy, grateful glance, then lowers his mouth over the head of Sasha’s cock, and Sasha thinks, _I won’t last long_. His pleasure has been building and building since that first kiss they shared in the kitchen, through the delicate, intimate dance of negotiations, to the incendiary sizzle of Sid’s first lesson in consensual humiliation, and then the deep satisfaction of Sid’s shivering acceptance of the marks of Sasha’s cruelty and his open-hearted worship of Sasha’s body, as rich and sweet as buttery caramel. In some scenes, this—sinking into Sid’s hot, plush mouth—would be the main event, but here, it’s the capstone: the ecstatic finishing touch.

Sasha is careful, even in the depths of his pleasure, to mind his manners, since Sid said “no choking.” Instead, he just lets Sid make a gift of the luxurious wet heat of his mouth, which is more than pleasure enough. Sid is obviously experienced, and flatteringly enthusiastic, and oh, he flushes and squirms so beautifully when Sasha praises his mouth.

Meanwhile, Sasha’s hands are busy. Every bruise within reach, whether his own bite marks or the souvenirs of pucks and hard checks, is fair game for his stroking fingers, pressing and rubbing the discolored skin until Sid flinches, and then moving on to his next target. As Sasha feels the warm suction of Sid’s mouth start to take him away, his hands get clumsy, scrabbling for the next mark, losing his grip until, finally, his hands clench along with his whole body as the climax floods through him in one sharp surge.

Sid swallows down Sasha’s come— _of course he does_ , Sasha thinks fondly, _perfectionist that he is_ —and then nuzzles into Sasha’s thigh while Sasha comes down from the high of his orgasm.

“Very good boy,” Sasha murmurs. He strokes his fingertips mindlessly over the back of Sid’s neck and admires the scattering of bite marks he’s left on Sid’s back and shoulders.

As he strokes, he pauses to take stock of himself, and of the scene.

 _This would be a good place to wrap it up_ , he thinks – Sid _was_ very good, certainly good enough to earn an orgasm, and Sasha’s own orgasm provides a natural sense of closure.

Or… it _usually_ would. But it’s not giving him that sense right now. _There’s something missing_ , he thinks. _Something for both of us_.

On Sasha’s side, doing a quick self-assessment, he can tell that he’s reached the sexual climax of the scene, but not the dynamic climax: his dick is perfectly content, but his dominance is still hungry. They usually go together, but not always, and right now Sasha can feel that his dominance still needs something more to put him over the edge – to get the sense of catharsis that will satisfy him fully and make the scene complete.

On Sid’s side… well, Sasha suspects Sid would be perfectly happy, on one level, to get his orgasm right now. But the problem is that he just _got_ a reward. If Sasha gives him the final, bigger reward now, right after the last one, it won’t feel earned—and by what Sid told him, that means it won’t be truly satisfying. Sid, too, needs something more: some way to prove himself. Something he’ll have to work to submit to.

Sasha looks down at Sid’s flushed face resting on his thigh and thinks, with melting tenderness and cruel anticipation, _Oh, I’ll make you work for it, sweetheart_. Those twinned, inseparable strands of tenderness and savagery—the sadist’s gift, impossible to understand or explain—pull tight inside him, and he knows very clearly what it is he has to do.

“Kneel, sweet boy.”

Sid straightens up.

“I’m not done with you,” Sasha tells him – he’s smiling, but the force of his dominance is lurking behind the words, and he can see Sid shiver. “Not yet. You earn my cock, and do very nice. But you don’t earn your pleasure yet.”

He stands, and walks over to the head of the bed, halfway across the bedroom, stripping off his shirt as he goes. When he reaches the bed, he stops and looks at Sid, waiting for the moment when he realizes what Sasha is going to make him do. When he sees the knowledge flare in Sid’s eyes, he smiles, slow. It’s not a nice smile. “You want your pleasure, pretty?” he says quietly. “Come and get it.”

Red splashes across Sid’s cheeks, and he throws a pleading look— _Do I have to?_ —up at Sasha. But he knows the answer.

Sasha watches, hungry, as Sid gathers his courage, then takes his first crawling step—

And promptly falls, hobbled by the chain between his ankles. A little moan of misery escapes his lips, but he struggles back up right away, first onto his elbows, then up on his hands and knees again. He doesn’t look up at Sasha; his eyes are trained on the floor now.

“Color,” Sasha checks, not giving himself permission to enjoy what just happened until he hears the answer: he wasn’t expecting Sid to fall, and any surprises in the scene, especially at such a fraught moment, require a check-in.

But without missing a beat, Sid replies, “Green,” takes a deep breath, and starts to crawl again.

It’s painfully slow. The need to take small enough steps to keep the chains from tripping him up hobbles him, making his movements clumsy and unnatural, and he’s clearly aware of it: aware of how awkward he looks, and humiliated by it. Sasha feels so brightly, blazingly alive, watching him. His own breathing is like thunder in his ears.

 _Yes_ , he thinks, _yes_. His hands clench instinctively, and he can feel that his own face is flushed. It’s like being drunk, if every swallow made the world clearer and sharper instead of blurring it.

Sid pulls up, halfway there – he moans in frustration and sinks to his elbows, pressing his face against his bound arms. Sasha can see his back heaving, his shoulders trembling, and he knows the hooks are twisting deep in Sid’s flesh now.

With another sub, another scene, Sasha would leave the sub to writhe and twist – would exult in it, soak up that misery…

But not with this sub, in this scene. Sasha wants Sid to bend under the weight of his sadism, but not to break.

Never to break.

And he knows what gives Sid strength.

He says, in a voice that comes out rough even though he meant it to be soft, “Doing so good, Sid. _Look_ so good, so beautiful on your knees like this.” He’s not sure he’s ever seen Sid look _more_ beautiful than he does right now, debased and struggling, red-faced and crying and so, so desperate to be worthy of Sasha’s praise.

Sid lifts his head just far enough to catch sight of Sasha’s face. His eyes are glassy with tears, and his whole body is trembling, but he pushes up from his elbows and, with his eyes fixed on Sasha, he takes one faltering step, then another.

“Come on,” Sasha urges, willing Sid forward with all his heart. “Come, sweet boy—”

Sid is sobbing now, utterly abandoned, but he keeps moving in spite of everything, drawing on that incredible well of submissive strength that awes Sasha every time he sees a partner touch it.

“Fuck, so amazing—” Sasha murmurs, and then Sid is there, collapsing against Sasha’s shins, pressing his wet cheek against Sasha’s knee and weeping like he’ll never stop. His whole upper body is fever-flushed and dewy with sweat, and his cock is hard up against his belly. He has suffered for Sasha: offered Sasha his pain and humiliation, his vulnerability and his worship and his obedience. And all without a word of complaint, Sasha marvels – only a sweet openness and sincere desire to please. He deserves every bit of praise and pleasure that Sasha can give him.

Sasha tells him fervently, “You do _so_ good, make me so proud—” as he folds down to the floor and pulls Sid sideways into his arms. Sid melts into his embrace, huddled against his chest, curled up like a comma and still sobbing – the praise only makes him cry harder. When Sasha reaches up for the lube, then wraps a slick hand around Sid’s cock, Sid begs, coming apart at the seams, “Please, please, did I earn it—”

“You earn for sure, sweet boy, you can come, I _want_ you come—”

“Oh, oh,” Sid says brokenly, pushing his damp face into the curve of Sasha’s neck. He thrusts into Sasha’s hand with no semblance of rhythm, lost entirely to pleasure, and before Sasha can say more than, “So proud of you, beautiful—” Sid cries out and spatters them both with come.

Sasha holds him tight as he shakes through the aftershocks. There was a lot of buildup there for both of them, and a long wait for Sid in particular, who’d been hard since the very beginning of the scene. He strokes firmly down Sid’s neck and back, and murmurs more praise into Sid’s ear, probably nonsense, not even all in English – the tone should do the job.

It’s grounding for Sasha, too – and he needs that. In that last act of the scene, when Sid was struggling so hard to reach Sasha, Sasha felt almost as if they had fused into one person, so tightly were their desires aligned. He’d felt Sid’s suffering in his own body, willed Sid onward with every fiber of his own being, and now he’s shaking and sweating almost as much as Sid is. _But he made it_ , Sasha thinks, elated, and he presses a firm kiss against Sid’s temple, proud of him all over again… and feeling a little pride in his own dominance, too. _I gave him a mountain to climb, and he climbed it. And now we can both look down from the peak and rest_.

It’s not _just_ rest, though – at least, not for Sasha. The scene may be over, but he’s still responsible for Sid. Once Sid’s crying has faded into quiet sniffles, Sasha says, “I bet you thirsty, hmm?”

Sid considers this, and after a second, decides, “Probably? ‘S hard to tell.” His words are a little slurred, but his eyes are clear and he seems alert – not the kind of sub, apparently, who sinks into a sleepy daze in the aftermath of a scene.

“Then I’m get drinks.” Sasha tugs Sid’s chin around for a quick kiss on the lips. Then he carefully pushes himself to his feet. “Come on up, sweet boy. I’m put you in bed, for warm.”

Sid tries to stand, and immediately starts to topple, hobbled by the cuffs.

Sasha swears and grabs for him. He does manage to catch him, but it’s close, and Sasha thinks savage things about himself for forgetting the cuffs were there. _I should have taken them off as soon as the scene was over_ , he thinks as he helps Sid over to sit on the side of the bed. He remedies the problem now, gently removing first the wrist cuffs, then the ankle cuffs, and apologizing to Sid for leaving them on so long.

“It’s okay – it felt nice,” Sid says, which is very sweet but almost certainly not the whole truth – Sasha’s pretty sure that almost collapsing and hurting himself at the end of a scene because of a dom’s thoughtlessness did not, in fact, feel nice.

Determined to make it up to Sid, Sasha runs through the range of motion checks that Zhenya taught him—no problems there—and then tucks him into bed very tightly, kissing his cheeks and calling him “best, most beautiful boy.”

At the minifridge, Sasha loads up his arms with Gatorade and water bottles, and he snags a dried fruit mix from the nearby cabinet. He’s pretty sure Zhenya mentioned Sid having a bit of a sweet tooth.

He joins Sid in bed, one arm wrapped around Sid’s shoulders and Sid’s side pressed close against his side. It means he has to drink his Gatorade one-handed, but it’s the least he can do.

Once they’ve made their way through the drinks and snacks, Sasha catches Sid’s wrist and kisses the inside. The skin under his lips is thin and soft, but he can feel the strength in Sid’s thick wrist under his palm. “You honor me with your submission,” he recites. It’s hard for him to put into words what Sid’s submission meant to him, but he tries. “Your submission very beautiful, very special,” he says slowly. “I know I push you, in negotiate and in scene – I know I ask for a lot, a lot trust especially, and I’m most proud you do so much for me. I’m gonna think about tonight for a long time. Very good memory – best,” he finishes, squeezing Sid’s wrist for emphasis.

Sid takes a deep breath and then ducks his head to kiss Sasha’s knuckles. “It was my honor to offer you my submission,” he replies quietly. “It really… it really was. I don’t know how to—I didn’t know it c—” His voice cracks, and he buries his face in the crook of Sasha’s neck.

Sasha holds him and strokes his hair. He can feel the raggedness of Sid’s breathing against the notch of his collarbone.

It feels good, in a way, to think that he’s given Sid something that no dom ever had before – but mostly, it makes him sad. _No one ever fucking asked you what you wanted_ , Sasha thinks, kissing the crown of Sid’s head. _Or they did, and then they shamed you for it. But look at you: you’re still here. You still have the courage to offer what those bastards rejected._

“Is my honor,” Sasha murmurs, and he means it maybe more than he ever has. “You need cry some more? Is okay.”

Sid sniffs a couple of times, but says, “No, no – I-I think I’ve cried enough.” He leans back from Sasha and offers him a wobbly smile. “But, um. Thank you.”

Sasha shoots a look at the clock. If the Pens’ curfew is the same time the Caps’ usually is, then they still have a while before Sid has to be back to the hotel.

He asks, “What you want now, sweet boy?”

Sid considers this. “Um. A shower?” He peeks at himself under the covers and makes a face. “I’m sticky.”

“Sticky is no good,” Sasha agrees. “Come on, pretty, we shower.”

Once they’re both clean and toweling themselves off, Sasha catches Sid looking over the bite marks on his back and shoulders in the mirror.

“Yeah, I think take care of marks is next,” Sasha says, pulling his bruise balm from one of the cabinets, and nudging Sid to face away from him, toward the mirror. “They turn out nice, yes?” Sasha’s never had any shame about admiring his own work.

Sid nods, which isn’t the effusive reaction that Sasha was hoping for, but he doesn’t take it personally – he’s getting the impression that a post-scene Sid isn’t a talkative Sid.

As Sasha screws the lid off of the balm and scoops some onto his fingers, Sid asks him, quietly, “Are they… is it enough?”

Sasha blinks. “Enough for what?” He starts with the first bite, the one he left during negotiation. Sid makes a satisfying hiss when Sasha rubs the balm into it.

“For—if people see them,” Sid says, tilting his head to the side to give Sasha room. “Will they—does it look like…” He trails off.

Sasha frowns, not sure what Sid is getting at. “You mean, is look good? Yeah, sweet boy, is—or, _I_ think yes. You don’t like?”

“No, I do!” Sid seems almost embarrassed by how quickly the words came out of his mouth. He coughs a little and looks down, cheeks lightly pink, and the whole thing is too awkward and adorable for Sasha to doubt Sid’s sincerity.

Of course, that only leaves Sasha more confused. “I’m happy you like, pretty, but… what’s—” _Not ‘what’s wrong,’_ he thinks. Sid will just say nothing’s wrong. Instead, Sasha asks, “What you thinking, sweet boy?”

Sid bites his lip. “I just—is it, like… I don’t know. Does it look like… a lot?”

“A lot… to take?” Sasha hazards.

Sid nods, eyes fixed on Sasha’s face in the mirror. He looks nervous, and even if Sasha doesn’t understand why, he _does_ know how to help: he slides his arms around Sid’s chest and pulls him close, Sid’s back snug against Sasha’s front.

“Why you _want_ it look like a lot?” he asks, because clearly Sid does.

Sid’s answer comes out of his mouth with difficulty, in fits and starts. “That’s what—that’s what people respect,” he says. “That’s what… what shows that you were… good. Strong.”

There’s a lot tangled up there, Sasha thinks, and he’s guessing that the waters flowing under those words are old and powerful. Probably there’s not much Sasha can do, especially in this piece-of-shit language, to redirect that flow. But he’d be a fucking coward if he didn’t try. There may not be another chance like this, if this really is Sid’s only exposure to scening with a dom who gives a damn.

Sasha takes Sid by the shoulders and turns him around until they’re facing each other. Leaning back just far enough to meet Sid’s eyes, Sasha says, “You remember I say you very brave boy, yes?”

Sid nods.

“Brave is strong,” Sasha says with quiet force. “Strong is… try new things. Strong is protect yourself, communicate good. Strong is trust. All these things hard to do— _so_ hard, scary, take work—and do them need strong. Strong is _not just take pain_.” He gives that a second to sink in, then ends with, “Any dom who don’t see this, they stupid.” If it comes out with maybe a little more vehemence than he intended, Sasha’s willing to cut himself some slack for that – he’s been holding in a lot of anger at Sid’s past doms, and it was bound to leak out a bit here and there.

The look on Sid’s face is heartbreakingly lost – like Sasha dropped him off in a foreign country and then ripped the map out of his hands. Sasha’s not sorry, though. It was a shitty map.

“You look like maybe you need hug,” he tells Sid, and Sid just nods, wordless.

So Sasha wraps Sid up in his arms again. It feels good, as it always does after a scene, to hold and be held. He knows there’s more to do—the rest of those bites still need balm, they could probably both use more Gatorade—but for now he just holds on tight and enjoys feeling warm skin against his skin and having a sub to care for.

When Sid pulls back from the embrace, Sasha gives him a kiss for comfort. “You okay?”

Sid smiles – his eyes are red and he looks tired, but the smile is real. “Yeah,” he says.

“Good.” Sasha drops another quick kiss on his cheek. Stepping back and letting Sid go, he scrutinizes Sid’s face. Half-serious, half-teasing, he asks, “You _sure_ you don’t need more cry?”

At that, Sid ducks his head and laughs, clearly taking it in the spirit Sasha intended it. “Yeah. I’m sure.” Then he gives Sasha a considering look – with his head still tipped downward, he ends up looking up at Sasha through his lashes, which is pretty devastating. “Why? Do you want me to?”

It isn’t until Sasha sees the corners of Sid’s mouth curl upward that he realizes he’s being fucked with— _or flirted with_ , he thinks. _Or both. Probably both_. That’s hockey players for you. Again, it’s in the softest, shyest way, but Sasha cannot even begin to say how delighted he is by it.

“You are _most cute_ ,” he informs Sid, who rewards this praise by turning pink and making a face like he doesn’t want to be thought of as “cute,” but too bad, he is—and the blushing and funny faces only enhance the effect. “Most cute,” Sasha continues, as he picks up the bruise balm and starts back in on Sid’s bite marks, “and of course, beautiful boy – of _course_ I want you cry. Why you think I’m so mean to you, hmm?”

“You’re not mean,” Sid mutters, which is an interesting perspective coming from someone who Sasha _did_ make cry, repeatedly… and writhe and flinch and gasp and all those other lovely reactions that Sasha had wrung out of him. But he seems to mean it, which is sweet.

“Most cute and sweet and brave and best boy,” Sasha affirms. “ _Most_.”

Sid squirms a little bit, contorting his body in a way that makes no sense until Sasha catches a glimpse of something reflected in the mirror.

“Ohhhh,” Sasha says, grinning. “You like so much, hmm? You like I say you best boy and most beautiful and please me so much—”

“Cut it out,” Sid mumbles, looking mortified as his dick continues to plump up in response to Sasha’s praise.

“Sorry, sweet boy,” Sasha says – since they won’t have time to actually _do_ anything about it if he does get Sid hard, it would just be cruel to keep working him up, and Sasha generally tries to keep his sadism out of his aftercare.

Sasha is curious, though…

“Can you get all hard? Just from praise?”

Sid shrugs. His cheeks are still charmingly pink. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, “probably not.”

Sasha finishes tending the last of the bite marks and closes up the tub of balm. “Well,” he says, leading Sid back into the bedroom, “maybe I’m do experiment some time, hm?”

The pink in Sid’s cheeks intensifies, and his words come out almost in a whisper. “You, um… you would want to?”

Sasha blinks at Sid. “Want to see if I can make you hard with praise?” _Obviously_ Sasha would want to do that – it would be ridiculously hot if he could, and it would still be fucking hot even if he only got most of the way there. Who _wouldn’t_ want to try?

Sid clarifies, “I meant… you would want to, um. Scene with me again?” His arms are wrapped around his belly, hugging himself – everything in his posture screams uncertainty, and he quickly adds, “It’s okay if you don’t—”

“Sweet boy, if you don’t have curfew,” Sasha interrupts, looking Sid straight in the eye, “I’m have you again right now.” The last thing he wants is for Sid to feel pressured to scene with him again in the future, but he’s also not willing to let Sid feel unwanted for even a second, and the latter seems like a far more pressing danger than the former.

Sid sways a little as Sasha’s words hit him, and his eyes go wide – but then he smiles that unguarded, purely happy little smile that knocks the wind out of Sasha, and Sasha knows he got it right.

If Sasha had his way, he’d pull Sid into bed and into his arms to kiss and talk through the scene, but his own mention of curfew reminds him that they’re under a time crunch here. He asks, “Talk about curfew… you have time for more cuddles before I drive you to hotel?”

Sid shakes his head, with obvious regret. “I don’t think so,” he says, looking at the bed wistfully. “I better just get dressed.”

Even though he was expecting that answer, it still sucks. Sasha sighs. “I’m get dressed, too, I guess – police in D.C. don’t like if you drive naked.”

Sid giggles at that, which was the intended response; Sasha gives himself a mental pat on the back.

When they’re both clothed and fortified with one more bottle of Gatorade, Sasha leads Sid down to the car. As they buckle up, he reminds Sid to text Fleury.

Sid was clearly hoping Sasha had forgotten about that; the look of disappointment that flashes across his face is almost comical. He pulls his phone out and hits some collection of buttons—physical buttons, because he’s using a fucking _flip phone_ —then looks up at Sasha and says, “He says he’ll meet us out in front of the hotel.”

“Good.” That will discharge part of Sasha’s remaining aftercare responsibilities, but not nearly all, so he instructs, “Now make new contact in phone. For… hmm… what is best name? Captain Sexy,” he decides.

Even with his eyes on traffic, Sasha can feel Sid giving him a look.

“Is that supposed to be you?” Sid asks, dryly.

“Of course! I’m Captain, I’m sexy, so…” Sasha waves his hand airily, like _isn’t it obvious_.

“Uh-huh.”

There follows a silence that chirps Sasha far more effectively than words ever could – or it would, if Sasha had any shame, which he doesn’t.

Sid takes down Sasha’s number, then types in a name – given Sid’s emphasis on privacy, Sasha presumes it’s something more boring and discreet than “Captain Sexy.”

“Now,” Sasha orders, “look at me.” He can’t return the favor, since he’s watching the road, but he can tell when he has Sid’s attention. He directs, “You call me tomorrow morning for check in – when you alone someplace, so you can really talk. And you call me _right away_ if you have any kind of problem – hand feel tingly, bite get wet or itchy, you feel down, sad… _anything_.” Considering that Sid didn’t seem to have any prior experience doing scenes with humiliation, Sasha decides it’s worth getting a little more specific on that issue. He explains, “Sometimes with this kind of scene—with crawl, with embarrass—sub feel good in scene but weird after, because think, ‘What’s dom think about me, see me do so embarrassing things, say so dirty things; maybe think I’m bad, dirty person for real.’ For this, too, you call me _right away_. You my responsibility, and I want to know. Don’t be like, ‘Oh, I’m not call Alex, I’m not want _bother_ , not want _complain_ , he probably busy or sleep.’ I’m not too busy or sleep for _you_. Is promise.”

Sasha takes advantage of a stop sign to look over at Sid for emphasis, and is heartened to see no hint of skepticism on Sid’s face – with Sid’s history with two-faced doms who apparently didn’t give a shit about communication, he wouldn’t blame Sid for taking all of this as just pretty words, but Sasha means it all.

He prompts Sid, “Now you promise, too – promise you call.”

Obediently, Sid says, “I promise I’ll call tomorrow for a check-in – and I promise I’ll call tonight if I need to—if something goes wrong.”

“Or if you feel weird or bad,” Sasha presses, because that’s what he’s most concerned about. He’s pretty sure Sid will get help if something goes _physically_ wrong, whether that’s from Sasha or Fleury or from the Penguins medical staff or trainers. But he has a sneaking suspicion that Sid will be less willing to seek help for “just” a bad feeling.

“Or if I feel weird or bad,” Sid repeats, with no hesitation. “I promise.”

“Good boy.” Sasha’s looking forward to that check-in call, which is maybe a little weird, but… he _likes_ Sid. He liked Sid before, mostly secondhand, and he likes Sid even more now, now that he’s gotten to know Sid’s shyness and courage and the little flashes of fiery spirit that Sid has allowed him to see. He’d like to see more of them. Which brings to mind something else.

As he nudges out into an intersection for a left turn, he glances over and reminds Sid, “And now you have my number for next time, too.”

Sid smiles, small and sweet. “Next time,” he repeats softly. “That sounds really nice.”

Sasha smiles back. “Sound nice for me, too.”

On the next block, they pull up in front of the Penguins’ hotel, and Sasha asks, “You see Fleury?”

“Not yet.” Sid frowns and looks down at his phone. “He said he’d be out here by now.”

“Well, goalies funny sometimes,” Sasha says philosophically. “We wait, then, unless you want text somebody else.”

Sid chews on his lower lip, then gives Sasha a sidelong look. “I don’t suppose you’d let me just…”

“Be alone tonight, after intense scene like that?” Sasha snorts. “No.”

Sid persists, “Not alone, but… I could wait for Flower in my room, so you don’t have to waste your time—”

“Take care of sub is not waste,” Sasha says firmly. “We wait.”

“Okay.”

Sid sneaks another sidelong glance at Sasha – this one Sasha can’t read.

“What?”

Sid pauses, as if weighing his words. After a moment, he says, “You’d really wait all night, if Flower was late or something. Wouldn’t you?”

“Wait all night, I don’t know,” says Sasha, in the interest of not looking like a _total_ softie, although privately he thinks he probably would – that, or sneak into the hotel in disguise or something.

Fortunately, there’s a knock on Sasha’s window, so it looks like it won’t come to that.

“But here is Fleury, so we not find out,” Sasha announces, and he starts rolling his window down.

He freezes when he hears Zhenya’s baritone voice instead of Fleury’s tenor.

“ _What are you doing here, Sasha?_ ” Zhenya is asking, squinting through the sliver of open window. “ _I thought you had a hot date, no time for your frie—_ ”

Zhenya’s voice dies as if he’s been strangled, and the color drains from his face. He stares past Sasha at Sid.

Sasha had always dismissed as hyperbole the idea that you could see a person’s heart breaking before your eyes. This is the last way he would ever have wanted to be proved wrong.

Zhenya folds in on himself as Sasha watches tongue-tied – he seems to shrink down to half his size, and his eyes are hollow with pain.

 _I thought he had a little crush,_ Sasha thinks dumbly. _I thought it was a crush, I didn’t know he was in love—_

That train of thought is derailed by another one that says, _Stupid, this is so fucking stupid, it’s not like his sweet Sidney really wants my kind of dominance anyway, it should be Zhenya, they’re_ made _for each other, for fuck’s sake._

 _So what are you going to do about it?_ Sasha demands of himself, because he can’t just fucking sit here watching his best friend’s heart break while the apparent love of Zhenya’s life looks on in confusion.

The thought breaks the sort of spell of horror that had held him frozen. Sasha turns to Sid and asks quietly, “Sorry Zhenya find out – he’s recognize my car, want to say hello. But maybe is good – Fleury still not here, so maybe Zhenya take care instead? Is okay?”

Sid looks a little pale, but not as freaked out as Sasha had feared. He chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds. “Yeah,” he says finally, not looking at either of them. “I think that’s okay. I trust Geno.”

Sasha watches that one land. The look on Zhenya’s face is…

 _How did I miss this?_ Sasha thinks, berating himself again. Granted that he hasn’t seen the two of them—Zhenya and Sid—together very often. But now that he’s seen it, it seems so obvious that Zhenya’s in deep.

He turns to Zhenya and insists, “You’re take good care, yes?”

“Most good care,” Zhenya vows. He hurries around to the other side of the car to open Sid’s door, almost running.

Sasha would very much like to tell Zhenya what transpired in the scene—to tell Zhenya how closely his skills and preferences map onto what his beloved Sidney wants and needs—and he even has a legitimate reason for doing it, now that Zhenya will be providing the aftercare… but he doesn’t do it. He promised Sid that what passed between them would be private, and that promise is much more important than Sasha’s desire to matchmake.

Besides, if Zhenya has any brains at all, he’ll notice the marks left by the cuffs, and draw his own conclusions.

As Sid is unbuckling his seatbelt, Sasha discharges what he sees as his two remaining duties.

“Sid,” he says first, waiting to continue until Sid meets his eyes. “You call me for anything,” he says firmly. “And you call me tomorrow for check in. You my responsibility, for all time scene is affect you – and you promise, remember?”

Sid nods. “I promise.”

This next bit is a little trickier, but Sasha has confidence in his ability to pull it off, even in his second language.

“And Zhenya,” he adds, making eye contact with his friend, “you take extra special care of your captain, yes? Because he’s extra special sub, best.”

“I know,” Zhenya says, gaze soft as it rests on Sid’s face. With great tenderness—Zhenya has never, never been able to hide what he strongly feels—he adds, “I know he’s most special.”

Sid’s head jerks up slightly, and Sasha can see something dawning in Sid’s expression—as he looks at Zhenya, there’s a flash of _Could he…?_ And then, _But no, he wouldn’t_ , before a slow blossoming of _Maybe. Maybe he does._ From the flush that rises on Sid’s cheeks and the way that his whole body unconsciously opens out toward Zhenya, Sasha can tell that it’s not an unwelcome revelation.

 _My work here is done_ , Sasha thinks with satisfaction. “Then I let him go with you, Zhenya,” he announces – the way that both Sid and Zhenya jolt at the sound of his voice, like they’d forgotten he was there, only reinforces that satisfaction.

As Sasha drives away, he can’t entirely quash a twinge of regret that, if things go the way he hopes they will, he won’t ever get that “next time” with Sid that he’d been looking forward to. But to see his best friend—and his new friend, if it’s not too odd to call Sid that on the basis of a hookup and a few on-ice conversations—happy with a well-matched and beloved partner is more important than the prospect of even a very good and meaningful scene. And to see Sid, who’s clearly been ill-used by doms in the past, under the care of the best, most thoughtful dom that Sasha knows… well, that’s the best outcome Sasha could have hoped for.

When Sasha gets home, he lets the dogs out from behind their gate and thanks them for their patience.

It occurs to him, then, that there’s someone else he should thank.

It takes a few minutes for Backy to respond. _What did I do?_ pops up on Sasha’s phone as he’s tidying up the bedroom.

 _Make me not stupid_ , he texts back.

A short time later, his phone buzzes with _No one can do that. It’s like making you not tall._

Sasha laughs. _Still. I help someone tonight because of you, thing you say to me._

 _Then I’m happy_ , Backy replies, simply. _Now you should sleep_.

“Not yet,” Sasha says aloud. But it’s good advice. Because his scene partner had to bail for curfew, he has no humans to cuddle, but being a dog parent makes that no big deal. “Come on,” Sasha tells his puppies, urging them up onto the bed. Sasha squeezes in among them and pulls out a book, ready to decompress after a fraught scene and a hard-fought game.

 _Soon_ , he texts Backy, and tosses his phone onto the nightstand.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: Thank you to all who answered my call for a beta volunteer - I'm truly blown away by the level of generosity and encouragement that I received. <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr, where I'm [youhideastar](https://youhideastar.tumblr.com).


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